


Sunny One So True

by Morbane



Category: The Turn of the Story - Sarah Rees Brennan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Companionable Snark, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Obliviousness, Pre-Slash, References to the Beatles, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:30:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3099998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbane/pseuds/Morbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elliot tries diplomacy. Yet again. Bardic style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunny One So True

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cienna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cienna/gifts).



> Thanks to LeaperSonata for the beta, and NightsMistress for the encouragement. And to sleepfighter and Kat, of course, for the joy of Yuleswaps.
> 
> This is set just after part X and the school play, with a very minor canon divergence at that point.

Elliot made a circuitous trek across the camp grounds, counting the steps until he could, again, be rid of the trousers he'd worn for the school play. And also the paint smeared across his chest. And also his pretty obvious bed hair. He wasn't ashamed of how he'd got that way, but it had to be admitted, it wasn't his best look. Happily, no one had seen him yet. A bustle of activity on the far side of the camp, light glinting off people near the towers, might account for that. Halfway there...

"Elliot!"

He looked up at the very last voice he'd expected to hear: Serene, calling out to him as she ran towards him over the fields. Her long black hair streamed behind her as if someone had spilled ink on the wind. Her eyes shone. Elliot stopped still to admire everything that had suddenly gone right with the world; that was clearly the correct thing to do, because a moment later, his head lay against Serene's shoulder, his arms were wrapped around her, and hers were wrapped around him. He wondered how he could possibly have imagined staying away from the Border, and never seeing her again.

After perhaps a minute, Serene released him. Elliot made a small involuntary sound of disagreement, but let go too. Serene looked him over, and bit her lip.

"You have assured me that human and elvish men feel differently about the preservation of virtue," she said, sounding a little distressed, "but it seems to me that you have. Um. Continued down the road embarked on by our dalliance."

"Oh, the costume?" Elliot asked cheerfully. "Don't worry about it. I'm not really more depraved. It was for Art. How are you?"

She smiled tentatively.

"I believe you," she assured him, "but all the same, I think it best my mother not catch sight of you in such attire."

"Your mother?" said Elliot, and then, as always happened eventually, his brain caught up with his words, and he added, "That's why you're here, isn't it? The elves have come to discuss the bandit problem."

"Yes," Serene said, and sighed. "It is not going well. I had hoped that when my mother met Luke, she might change her mind about his worth on the field of battle."

Elliot had moved on. He had. So he only felt vague irritation, rather than burning resentment that she was talking about Luke already after they'd spent so many months apart.

He also felt a different surge of irritation that surprised him. Luke might be capable at all kinds of things Elliot disregarded and disapproved of – killing things, throwing things, throwing things in order to kill things – but the basic fact of capability should not be ignored, including by elves who had apparently been allied with the Sunborns for generations.

He changed the subject back. "So when you say 'not going well'," he said cautiously, "how did you leave things?"

"Shouting," said Serene. "My clan demands guarantees that the humans will retreat from their land as eagerly as they enter it. General Lakelost says that the bandits will only be driven out by a series of successive campaigns, which will require his soldiers to construct a camp no less permanent than this one."

"Then shouting."

"Yes."

Elliot raised his eyes heavenwards. "What, exactly," he demanded of the sky, "did they expect?"

When he looked back at Serene, she was thoughtful.

"The elves expect the humans to say exactly what they always say," she said.

"So much for valuing diplomacy," Elliot muttered.

"The humans expect the elves to agree with the same things they always say," Serene continued.

"So much for _using_ diplomacy," Elliot concluded.

She smiled sadly; it was times like this he remembered that she, too, had committed herself earnestly to the council track of training.

"It doesn't sound like there's anything you can do until they've calmed down," he said soothingly. "Why don't you come back to my cabin, and I can change out of these things, and we can talk properly."

* * *

Privately, Elliot thought that the elves had a far greater chance of storming off than calming down.

"The elves are just going to storm off, aren't they," he said to Commander Woodsinger.

"It's possible the talks will conclude without a satisfactory result for both parties, yes," Commander Woodsinger said, in quelling tones. "How nice that for once you have not taken it into your head that you alone can prevent this."

"Well, actually...." Elliot said.

"How nice of you to share your plans with me before putting them into effect in a way that will almost surely jeopardise the lives of those around you and the futures of many further afield," said Commander Woodsinger, direly.

"That's me," Elliot said brightly. "So I was thinking..."

Woodsinger was an all right sort of person. Not only did she hear him out, she even asked follow-up questions.

The following day, when the distinguished warrior Death-on-a-Wing-of-Arrows slammed her fist down on the table to declare the humans' opinions a blight on their entire alliance and an insult to past and present generations, Commander Woodsinger blandly insisted that the elvish faction could not depart, as to miss the feast and performances scheduled for the following evening in the elves' honour would be a greater insult still.

She did not catch Elliot's eye as she spoke; he smirked anyway.

Privately, he thought that if it had been him announcing this, he would have added in a few honeyed words about how the elves valued humans for their culture, at the very least, if not their prowess in battle. (Because really, the elves couldn't make disparaging comments about how useless the humans were _and_ treat the humans like a terrible threat encroaching on their lands. One or the other, not both.)

But Commander Woodsinger was following his plan, so he couldn't be too critical.

And they had bought the negotiations two more days.

Serene found Elliot in the library, surrounded by a pile of volumes of poetry that he was ranking by Most Laudatory Towards Humans or Elves.

"Oh hey," Elliot said. "I'm surprised to see you! I mean, I'm always pleased to see you, but I thought the elves had gone off on some kind of war game thing? Brief retreat while tempers cool?"

"That is the plan," Serene said. "But I had a favour to ask of you."

Elliot had a sinking feeling.

Serene said, "I hear that you have arranged this continuation of our talks."

Elliot perked up. It was nice to get the credit.

"Since you have achieved this, I feel I can ask you for more," Serene said.

Elliot was saved from breathing, _Anything_ , only because Serene did not give him a pause to do so.

"There must be some way to represent Luke in a better light," Serene said. "You told me yesterday that you had spent your summer among minstrels..."

"Uh." Elliot said, appalled. "You want me to sing a song about Luke?"

"Yes," Serene said earnestly. "I do not think there is anyone better suited to it...."

Against all reason, Elliot was starting to warm to this idea. He was still kind of on a kick from the school play; he _did_ know how to play three musical instruments and he _did_ have a good singing voice – even the Sunborns thought so. But Serene was continuing... "on account of your long friendship."

"Serene," Elliot said slowly, "Luke is not my friend."

Serene stared at him.

"Elliot, you and he and I have been close companions for three years," she said, as if wondering if she shouldn't use even simpler sentences, like, "One and one and one is three."

"Um," Elliot said, because somehow he felt saying, _I am your friend. Luke is your friend. Luke and I are not friends_ , would not sound very good.

It had always sounded just fine in his head.

Then Serene came to an even more awful conclusion.

"Elliot," she said, her face filling with sympathy, "what you were telling me about, yesterday – your relationship with another man. Is it that you have come to have such feelings for Luke?"

"Noooooooo!" Elliot yelled, because, really, _Luke_. He took a breath. "NooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOO!"

He could have continued in this vein for a while, except that the librarian, Bright-Eyes-Gladden-The-Hearts-of-Women, marched over with the most vengeful expression that worthy, demure gentleman was capable of. Elliot had managed to waste all of the approval he'd earned by asking for classical elven poetry. Cancelling good impressions as soon as he'd made them – it was the kind of thing Elliot was good at.

He clutched his books to him – Serene helped – and fled the library.

"You must remember that I have kept to the brusque company of women this summer," Serene said apologetically. "You must forgive me for forgetting to adjust to men's delicate sensibilities." But there was a faint crinkling at the corners of her eyes: a subtle smile that he could read as clear as day.

"You're laughing at me," Elliot moaned.

"I assure you, I am in earnest," Serene said. "It is my mother and my clan who fail to take humans seriously."

"That's rather on the nose," Elliot muttered.

"Hmm?"

"Never mind."

He flopped on the grass and stared upwards.

 _Seriously_.

"I'll do it," he said abjectly, and was rewarded with a true smile from her. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a lot of sulking to do and I really need to get started."

* * *

By the time Elliot took the stage with a ukelele, the elves were looking mellow; they might make a lot of noise about spartan living, but the Border camp cook's best efforts, plus hearing their praises recited all evening, was bound to have had some impact. Myra, Adara, and Natalie’s performance had been especially well-received. They had recited a flowery, condensed version of a discussion seventy years ago in which the humans had negotiated for a particularly wild branch of the Chaos-of-Battle clan to be forgiven by their enemy clans To-Silence-Lamenting and Trots-With-Foxes.

Elliot was feeling pretty smug about effective diplomacy, so when he sang "Green Grass and High Tides" as "a paean written by humans to the mysteries of the Borderlands," he swapped out his original lyrical substitution of "and noble clans bowing before you" to the rather insipid "all hopes and fears open before you." It was nice of him.

Then he sang America's Last Unicorn theme song as a way to get Luke's attention, and because he thought the elves might like it. Sure-Aim-in-the-Chaos-of-Battle looked pleased and muttered something to one of her companions that made the silver-haired human standing behind her – who did not look like someone a unicorn would approve of – raise eyebrows, and smirk at Elliot.

Luke glared at Elliot.

Elliot beamed back.

Luke's glare, Elliot felt, directed specially at him, made up for Serene's depressing focus on her sword sister bond. It made up for a lot of things.

He sang the Aquarius/Let-the-sun-shine medley from Hair, because _peace and diplomacy_ , and when the elves gave him suspicious looks about the pertinence of solar references, he smiled broadly and said in Elvish, "Much has been made of the elves's ancient deeds; I sing now of he who most recently claimed the title of champion of the Sunborns."

Luke looked freshly horrified. Elliot was so proud of him for keeping up with his Elvish.

"Little darling," Elliot sang, "it's been a long cold lonely winter...."

Ah, the elves' faces seemed to say, these are indeed the gentle terms of endearment with which one gentleman should refer to another.

"Little darling, it feels like years since it's been spring...

"Here comes the sun," Elliot sang earnestly, looking out upon the audience to show them that they, in fact, were the delicate flowers in need of reassurance. "Here comes the sun, and I say, it's all right..."

The final applause was scattered and confused.

"That was nice," Serene said, looking especially confused.

"I did my bit," Elliot said. "Your turn."

He'd had the chance to share human cultural treasures _and_ poke fun at Luke. All was right with the world.

He stayed at the feast for a while after that, congratulating Myra on her part; after his conversation with her about Luke last night, he'd worried that things would be awkward, but there seemed to be some understanding between Peter and Myra. Well. Good. Best not to go into that just yet.

Some of the Sunborns seemed to be trying to drink some of the elves under the table. Elliot wished them joy of it. He took his ukelele and started back to his dorm.

* * *

"Elliot!"

It wasn't a loud yell, more a particularly insistent whisper; Luke appeared out of the trees.

"Did you like my tribute?" Elliot said.

Luke stared at him for a moment.

"I guess I should thank you," he said. "The elves have said I can prove my worth in combat. Commander Woodsinger is setting up a tourney tomorrow."

"Oh," Elliot said hollowly. "War games. Just peachy. Because the whole point was getting you permission to bop people over the head."

Luke shrugged. "Wasn't it?"

He made an abrupt gesture towards the practice rooms. Elliot grumpily followed.

Luke kindled a light and shut the door behind them. "I've had my Dad asking me all day if I had a crush on you," he said.

"That's a bit obtuse of him. I told him you didn't _yesterday_ ," Elliot said earnestly. He stopped short of explaining that he'd told Luke's dad Luke was in love with Dale Wavechaser.

Luke snorted. "And then you serenade me. Are you _trying_ to make my life hard?"

"Am I succeeding?" Elliot said hopefully. Luke was a golden boy who lived in a cloud of being perfect at everything. He ought to have a taste of mortal life every now and then.

Luke shrugged and sat down; unwillingly, Elliot settled next to him.

"Yeah, you are," Luke admitted. "I didn't want all that attention."

Luke's mother called Luke her "shy boy". It had taken a while for Elliot to connect this with the actual person. But, even now that he had, he was surprised to hear Luke say it himself.

"Try not to be so great at fighting and throwing things," Elliot advised. "I hear that helps." No ulterior motive at all, there. None at all. "You can still be good at things! There's lots of things that aren't war that people can excel at."

Luke smiled. His eyelids drooped. Sitting down had clearly been a mistake. Elliot dimly recalled that there had been a Trigon game or practice today too. Elliot tried not to keep track of such things, but they snuck into his consciousness.

"I liked the songs, though," Luke said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, well, thanks, then," Elliot said. That sentence felt weird without a "you moron" or similar tacked on to the end of it.

"I want to hear them again," Luke said. "But, you know, you should actually sing them for me. Instead of pretending to sing them for me."

Elliot's mouth was suddenly, unhelpfully dry. "Okay," he said. "I guess that's fair."

He had the ukelele now. He should probably give it back tomorrow. Tomorrow he and Luke could go back to being not-friends, which was much more comfortable and didn't make Elliot feel... whatever it was he was currently feeling. But Luke was nearly asleep, and so was he, and so somehow...

... it was much easier to lull him along by singing Here Comes the Sun, and then Ain't No Sunshine When You're Gone, and Good Day, Sunshine, and Sunshine Of Your Love...

... until Luke was snoring peacefully, stretched out on the hard floor as if it were a pillow.

Elliot yawned, and decided it was also much easier to stay and use _Luke_ as a pillow than to trek back to his dorm; it was halfway through the night by now.

And so he was stiff all over, and cold, and bleary-eyed, and yet surprisingly reluctant to move, by the time it was truly morning, and the sun shone in.


End file.
